


Not History

by starhawk2005



Category: A History of Violence (2005)
Genre: F/M, Ficlet, Het, Rough Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-11
Updated: 2012-09-11
Packaged: 2017-11-14 01:11:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/509729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starhawk2005/pseuds/starhawk2005
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn’t over. He couldn’t bury Joey Cusack again just yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not History

He’d known it was coming. The family had sat silently through dinner, the children making gestures that clearly showed they wanted their father back.

But every time he looked up, Edie was still staring at him.

It wasn’t over. He couldn’t bury Joey Cusack again just yet.  


Edie waited until they were alone in the master bedroom, Jack sent off to study with a friend, Sarah sent to the neighbour’s for a playdate.

She crossed her arms and glared at him. “Did you take care of all your remaining business, Joey?” Her voice was sarcastic, mean. She’d never talked that way to him before. Ironically, it seemed that Tom Stall wasn’t the only one with another, meaner identity.

“Don’t call me that, Edie, please,” he begged, sitting wearily down on the edge of the bed. He closed his eyes. How could he explain to her that he hadn’t really had a choice? He’d been born Joey Cusack, and he’d been forced into the life. Survival had been the main reason he’d killed, at least at first. Yes, after awhile he’d gotten good at killing, and for a brief period, he’d even enjoyed it, perhaps purely as a defense mechanism, but in the end, he’d been happy to ‘bury’ Joey, and give birth to Tom Stall. 

Tom Stall wasn’t a fake. Tom was who he was _meant_ to be. He was much better at being a loving husband, father, and small business owner, than he’d ever been as a killer.

But he didn’t seem able to say these things to his wife.

“Joey is gone,” he insisted, instead.

“I don’t believe you,” she hissed, stalking back and forth across the bedroom. “Why should we even bother trying to make this work? You lied to me, Tom. Joey. Whatever your fucking name is-”

“I didn’t lie,” he answered, trying to find the words to convince her. “The man you met was real. He was the man I always wanted to be, but never had the chance. Is that so wrong?”

It was the truth, but apparently it wasn’t something she wanted to hear. “Yes!” she shouted at him, striding over and slapping him across the face.

It hurt, damn it. “Edie, stop,” he said, fighting for calm. “I’d never hurt you or the kids. You know that-”

“Fucking liar!” she shouted even louder. “Never hurt me? What do you call our little aerobics on the stairs the other day?” She punctuated her question by hitting him again.

Sudden dull anger filled him like sewer water, and next thing he knew, they were across the room and he had his wife pinned against the wall by her throat. Again. The part of him that was still Joey, that would always _be_ Joey, knew exactly how he could kill her. How much to tighten his hand, how much strength to use, how long it would take…

He shoved the feeling away, loosening his hand. But he didn’t let her go. “I’m sorry about that,” he said quietly. “I was frustrated and angry. I think you were, too. But you wanted it. I was going to stop, and you kissed me, remember?”

She gave out a cry of rage, her nails scraping at his forearm. It hurt, and he grit his teeth, narrowly managing to shove his anger aside. “Edie, _stop_.”

“How can I ever trust you again, Tom? How will I even know it’s you?”

“I’m trying to be Tom again. I _want_ to be Tom. If anything, you’re the one keeping that from happening,” he pointed out. “You’re the one slapping me, clawing at  me. ” He glanced at the scratches on his arm. “I think we’ve both discovered the violent sides of ourselves.”

Her knee suddenly struck him - not in the groin, but damned close, his upper thigh - and he was just as suddenly angry again. They could so easily go back to what they were before. The town still thought of him as a hero, Sheriff Sam had laid off, and the kids were happy to have him back. It was only Edie who was still putting up a fight.

Why?

A sudden thought occurred to him, and he didn’t know if it was Tom’s or Joey’s, but he leaned in, whispering into her ear. “Maybe that’s what you want? You liked what happened between us before, on the stairs, and you want it to happen again, so you’re goading me?”

He didn’t give her a chance to answer, just tightened his hand around her throat slightly, then kissed her. If she wanted this to stop, her knee still had a direct sightline to his groin. He didn’t think she’d balk at attacking him, if this wasn’t what she wanted.

But he didn’t think he was wrong.

And she didn’t try to stop him. In fact, her hands clutched at him, fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer.

He broke the kiss and yanked her forward, pulling her by the arm towards the bed. He shoved her down onto it, then pushed himself down on top of her, pinning her down.

Her eyes met his, but they weren’t angry or afraid, and he thought he finally understood. When he became Tom Stall, he must’ve taken away too much of the _passion_ in himself. Buried it along with Joey. He recognized now that Edie must’ve been trying to revive it, with her little cheerleader game, and it also explained why she was pushing him now.

A sharp tug, and her blouse was ripped open, buttons flying everywhere. He sank his teeth into her shoulder, not deep, just enough that she’d feel it. Her nails dug into his arms, but it was passion, not defense. When she pulled on the front of his shirt, ripping it open, he wasn’t surprised. More buttons popped off, but neither of them cared.

He pinned her wrists above her head with one hand, pulling up her skirt with the other. A rough movement, and her panties were torn off, flung to the floor. Their gazes meshed again, and there was nothing but heat and desire in her eyes. Yes, this was exactly what she wanted.

He wished he had some rope, to tie her wrists together, but he didn’t (he’d have to fix that later, he supposed), so he wrapped his hand around both of her wrists, pinning them to her belly so he could slither down and get his head right between her thighs.

She made a sound halfway between a purr and a growl, and he was almost painfully hard. He couldn’t believe how wet she was. He’d definitely have to do this again.

It didn’t take long to bring her to the edge with his tongue and his free hand. She lay there, watching him with lust-glazed eyes as he fumbled one-handed with his fly, then pushed into her in one hard thrust. He let go of her wrists, grabbing her shoulders and holding her tightly against him as he thrust, but it didn’t matter, she wasn’t interested in escape. Her legs wrapped around his hips, her nails sinking into his shoulders as she panted and moaned and urged him on.

Later, when it was all over, he held her gently in his arms. “Edie, when you want this, you just ask me. You don’t need to take a swing at me.”

Only silence answered him, and just when he was starting to worry that maybe he’d been wrong, that maybe he - Joey - had just raped his own wife, she answered sleepily “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Maybe Tom’s life wasn’t over. Hell, maybe it was just beginning.


End file.
